Recovery
by MajorJune
Summary: One needs time to recover from major trauma, both physical and emotional.


He accepted the blanket and other bedding without a word, and made his way to his favorite spot.

It was much coveted by those who utilized this men's shelter, and those who worked there wondered why the tall, pale man with the long stringy hair, hooked nose, and the large ugly scar on his neck - its recent creation shown in its red shininess - always got the prized location after his second night there.

"Toby Prince," he'd croaked in a voice that sounded like a rasp when they'd pressed him for a name, but they knew it was a lie. But so were most of the names the others offered them, so they did not press this strange dark man.

And it was also not strange for a good many of the clients of the shelter to not have the normal requirement of government-issued documents and IDs, so "Toby Prince" was not unusual in that regard.

They'd insisted that he undergo "counseling" with one of their volunteers if he was to be allowed to stay, a sincere young lady who was seeking a graduate degree in social work and came to the shelter two afternoons a week as part of her required internship. As sincere as she was, she did not succeed in getting "Toby Prince" to open up about himself, and she suspected that even without the injury hindering his ability to speak, that Mr. Prince would not have been an easy client.

The man going by the name Toby Prince did not care. He did and said just enough to assure that he would be allowed back into the shelter every evening, where he got a bed that was reasonably uncomfortable but where the bedding and premises were reasonably clean, where he could shower and shave, have a cup of tea before bed and tea and breakfast in the morning before being made to leave by 9am.

To look for work, the shelter employees instructed them. But Mr. Prince's routine consisted of not completely aimlessly wandering for a couple of hours, as his route always ended up taking him to one of three city parks he'd decided were crowded enough to grant him anonymity. He'd buy something from a vendor outside the park – there were always vendors outside all of the parks – something cheap, and easy to swallow.

He'd then find his favorite spot in whatever park he'd ended up at; if anyone had been keeping notice, they'd have seen that these places in these parks were always strangely available, just like the favorite cot in the shelter.

He would finish his repast and just sit for hours, before heading to the bus station in the late afternoon.

The shelter searched its clients for illegal contraband, especially drugs. They would not understand the vials of different shapes and sizes that Mr. Prince kept stored in a locker in the bus station.

Late every afternoon, as the evening rush hour commenced, Mr. Prince would unlock the satchel he kept stored in the locker, and take it to the men's room. Once there he'd wait for a stall to become available, and once safely hidden from prying eyes, he'd sip from some of the bottles, while other vials held substances that he would rub on the wound on his neck.

Once these rituals were completed and all the bottles and vials returned to the satchel, there was one last ritual. He did not know why he did it, but he could not return the bag to the locker before withdrawing a long, tapered piece of wood.

He stroked it lovingly, and fought the tears that came to his eyes. Every day he did this, and every day it brought tears which he fought back.

After a few minutes he returned it to the satchel, quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, flushed the toilet which he hadn't used, and went over to the sinks to wash his hands and face.

Occasionally he'd had to hex someone who had been too insistent on making a pass at him, and he smiled realizing that as terrible as the injury to his neck had been, luckily he retained his magikal abilities.

Then he would head back to the shelter for a cup of tea and a warm, clean bed for the night, knowing that it was highly unlikely that either surviving Death Eaters or those who considered him to be a traitorous Death Eater himself could find him until he was strong enough to face them.


End file.
